


Life in the Arena

by LittleSixx



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Background Henry Mills, Captain Hook | Killian Jones In Love, Established Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, F/M, Gladiators, Kid Henry Mills, Minor Prince "Charming" James | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, POV Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Past Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Milah, The Author Regrets Everything, Top Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9061144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: Based on the book, "Girl in the Arena," Major League Gladiators is the most popular sport in America. As the reigning champions, Emma Swan and Killian “Hook” Jones must compete in an exhibition match before officially winning their freedom. However, the universal truth of gladiators is that only one can survive.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avengingclaims (Ausiewanab)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausiewanab/gifts), [andypandy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andypandy/gifts).



> This is the prologue, which is from Emma's POV. The remainder of the story is in third-person Killian POV. In this world, American football does not exist and is replaced by Major League Gladiators. This story is not for the squeamish. There will be explicit violence and sexual situations.
> 
> Gifted to avengingclaims and andyspandy for being excited about my last Captain Swan fic(s) and leaving feedback. You both had such kind words which made me smile. This one is much darker, but I want to gift my CS work to you.

“Get out of prison in three months and be no one, or get out now and become an athlete.” That line was fed to Emma Swan by an MGL recruiter ten years ago. At her lowest, broken and defeated, Emma saw an olive branch.

It was a mirage.

Now they call her the “Saviour.” They send her to battle dressed in white. They cheer for her triumphs and applaud her mercy. They call her the Saviour, but she cannot save anyone. Not even herself.

Gladiators are not people.

Emma Swan was a gladiator who refused to kill, and Commissioner Gold saw a marketing opportunity. Gladiators are, after all, his property, and there are two ways to destroy a person: tear them down or build them up. Ten years and nearly two-hundred fights later, Emma Swan is an athlete and Commissioner Gold told her when she can be a person.

None of these thoughts enter her mind as she stands, impatient, in the entryway to the arena. Somewhere out there is Mary-Margaret Blanchard, leader of the Anti-Gladiator Coalition. Next to her in the stands would be her fiancé, and Emma’s coach, David Nolan. If God gave Emma one thing, it was David Nolan.

She thinks of yesterday’s press conference when he said, “I would have quit four years ago, except Emma is family. My job is to keep Emma safe, and I wouldn’t put her in anyone else’s hands. She is like my daughter.” True, even though he was only four years her senior. Emma felt his pride in her blood.

A reporter asked, “You have only killed five people and Zelena has killed dozens. Do you think this impacts your ability to win?” Flashbulbs went off and Emma blinked rapidly. There was only one response.

“In a fight to the death, there are no winners.”

“If you lose, you die. If you don’t, you get to retire, so this is your final fight. How do you expect it to end?” Emma glanced around at the reporters holding their breath. She looked into the cameras and felt the audience’s insatiable hunger. There was no answer and no story to satisfy them. They were the mob.

“I will win,” she said. She repeats it, “I will win,” as the doors to the arena begin to open.

Somewhere out there is Emma’s trainer, Mulan, holding onto her locket. She never allowed Emma to see who was on the photo inside.

“When warriors love people, the only way to truly love them is to give them a life outside of all we know.”

She is introduced as “Emma Swan,” but the crowd chants, “Saviour! Saviour! Saviour!”

The roar of the crowd or reporters clamoring with questions, it was all the same: too much. For a moment, Emma wants Zelena to win. She wanted Zelena to rip her heart out and crush it until it was indistinguishable from the sand on the arena floor. But a little voice, a very specific voice, reminded her that is not possible.

_You must win. You will win. You will win your freedom for David, for Mulan, and for every good person who never made it out of the arena._

The doors open and Emma steps onto the sand, in front of what must’ve been the entirety of Boston and a sizable portion of the eastern seaboard. The chanting is interspersed with boos because Zelena entered, directly across the arena. Zelena feeds off it, playing the villain because it has always been her role. Her role, now, is to lose. Emma would ensure it, but something about her aura says she wants to lose.

Emma sees this as the roar of the crowd dies.

Both gladiators turn toward where Commissioner Gold sits in the stands. He is a small man, shrunken in stature with a crooked nose from all the years he was unwilling to fight back. Emma is a pawn in his vengeance; now he has people who fight for him. His clothes hang off him like a boy in his father’s suit, which stands apart from the opulently-dressed crowd in the seats around him. As is custom, Zelena kneels to authority. Emma unsheathes her sword and drives the blade into the ground.

She does not kneel.

Zelena stands and Gold looks at Emma with a child-like giggle. He, too, knows Zelena will die. Emma cannot do anything to stop it because he owns her, just as he owns Zelena and every other pawn on both sides of the chess board. Gold spreads his arms wide and leans into the microphone.

“Begin.”

Zelena immediately pulls the spear from her back and the beginning bell rings throughout the arena. Emma does not move. The crowd gets loud but years of practice have taught her to block it out. Zelena shuffles to get her weapons in order, but Emma’s only focus is her right hand. Zelena steps closer and closer until they are only twenty-five feet apart, but Emma does not flinch. Zelena gets into a throwing stance and Mulan’s voice echoes in Emma’s mind

“Never make the first move.”

Zelena throws her spear and Emma hits the deck. The crowd erupts in cheers. Emma rolls onto her side then pushes up off the floor. There is sand in her teeth but she cannot be bothered to care. She walks to where the spear lies on the ground, picks it up, and breaks it over a knee.

_One down._

Zelena retreats as Emma pulls her sword from the sand and resheathes it. She walks toward Zelena, whose bright green outfit stands out against the shades of arena brown. A cocky smile on Zelena’s face makes clear this is a trap. Even the crowd whispers in confusion. Just as Emma puts a hand on the hilt of her sword, Zelena darts around her. She hears Mulan again.

“Obey your instincts.”

Suddenly, there is a net overtop of Emma’s head, forcing her to the ground. It is weighted and she cannot even turn around. Zelena cackles, quickly approaching as Emma can seemingly do nothing but lie on her stomach. Her fingers cannot get any purchase on the net, but she has a dagger in her boot. She contorts her shoulder and brings her knee up toward her face. She grabs the dagger, pulls, and slices through the net, allowing her to roll free on her side. Emma kicks Zelena’s feet out from underneath her, a small knife flying free of her hand.

_Two down._

Zelena scurries back to the wall to help pull herself up. She is doubled-over for a moment, trying to catch her breath. For a moment, Emma feels bad. No matter how many people Zelena killed outside the arena, inside she is the same as Emma. They kill for a chance at a better life. Emma’s heart goes out to Zelena because she will never get a chance at redemption. Then someone in the first row behind Zelena catches Emma’s attention. She cannot make out his face, but his eyes are bright blue like the ocean in sunlight. They were frozen in so much pain that Emma saw herself in him for a moment

There are stories in those eyes.

Zelena is rushing toward her but she cannot clear her head. She is tackled and Zelena’s fist meets her cheek, skin splitting open. Zelena’s dagger is raised and Emma instinctively holds up a hand to shield her face. The blade sinks in, carving a gash across her open palm.

“Witch!”

Emma shouts before kicking Zelena off. She grabs the dagger and hurls it across the arena, then does the same with her own. Emma kicks Zelena’s side and any sentiment resembling pity disappears. This woman is a killer. Zelena laughs and clutches her side.

“So are you.”

Emma realizes she spoke aloud. No matter, there is no room for civility in a fight to the death. There is only offense and defense. Emma straddles Zelena, drawing jeers from the crowd. She pays them no mind and wraps her fingers around Zelena’s throat. Zelena’s eyes roll back in her head. She sardonically croaks to Emma.

“Didn’t realize we were giving them this kind of a show, princess.”

Emma punches harder this time. Zelena spits blood on her face, but the barrage continues. Not because she hates Zelena, but because she no longer sees Zelena.

She sees Neal, the man who framed her. Another punch for landing her in jail alone. Another for not caring she was pregnant. Another for not caring at all.

She sees Gold, who built her up only to destroy her.

Another punch for her parents who abandoned her on the side of a freeway.

An elbow to the nose for all the reporters who refuse her privacy. Finally, Emma picks up Zelena’s head and slams it onto the arena floor.

“I’m no princess.”

Zelena’s eyes are nearly swollen shut. Her face is red and bruised, like an overripe tomato. It looks like Emma beat out her will to live. Her body does not move for several seconds, so Emma stands. Her hands are balled into fists at her side and her breath only comes in short bursts.

Zelena lifts an arm and Emma takes it to hoist her up. She eyes Emma, and the ruthless killer is gone, replaced by an abandoned orphan with an abusive family. It was no secret that Emma and Zelena had the same beginning. Commissioner Gold created the savior and the wicked witch, all for this pinnacle moment.

They are only characters. Zelena wobbles and Emma can see death over her shoulder. Zelena spits more blood on the sand. Her request is simple.

“Give them a show and do it quick.”

Emma nods and pulls out her sword. She half-drags Zelena to the middle of the arena and points her sword at Commissioner Gold. “Kneel,” she demands and Zelena complies, squeezing Emma’s hand in silent thanks. “Look at him,” Emma demands. She shouts loud enough for all the arena microphones to hear.

“That is the man who killed you.”

Emma steps behind Zelena and swings her sword. In a swift motion, Zelena’s head falls to the side and her limp torso falls forward. The crowd erupts in cheers and Emma steadies herself, continuing to play the role of the undefeated. There is a river of blood flowing from Zelena’s neck. Emma walks toward the disembodied head. As she threads her fingers through blood-stained copper hair, little droplets of blood fall from loose skin at the bottom of what once was a neck. They make lily pads on the sand as Emma holds Zelena’s head aloft in triumph.

“Ding dong.”

And they cheer. Blood continues to fall and soon the lily pads meet the river. Emma forces back vomit as Zelena’s head rotates and she meets those lifeless eyes. The crowd is restless and Commissioner Gold stands. Emma is free.

“Saviour! Saviour! Saviour!”


	2. Chapter I: Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prologue from Killian's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really quite violent. It is the same violence you read in the prologue, just a bit different in description I suppose.

“A gladiator with one hand? You won’t last six months.” Five years later, Killian Jones was a champion. MLG never believed he could win, but there were few things he loved more than overcoming insurmountable odds. When Killian was at his lowest, loveless and handicapped, Commissioner Gold believed putting him in the arena was a death sentence.

It was an opportunity.

They called him “Hook” and gave him a weapon for a hand. So that’s what he made himself: a weapon. Killian, after all, had no reason to feel human. It’s impossible to be a person when there is literally nothing left to lose. Gold took the woman Killian loved, took ownership of Killian’s body, then took away his free will.

Gladiators are not people.

Hook killed to win his freedom, something which never should have been taken away. Almost a hundred battles later, it was in reach. He was a champion and the only obstacle remaining was a final exhibition match. A test that Gold would somehow set him up to fail. But as Killian looked at the pathetic imp sitting at the end of the arena, surrounded by some of the most influential people in the country, he sensed terror. Nearly five years earlier, Killian made a vow. He stood over Milah’s body, held his bleeding stump of a left hand, but an overwhelming rage dulled the pain.

“I will avenge Milah’s death. I will ruin you if it is the last thing I do.”

That promise rang through his mind as he sat in the front row of the American MGL Championship crowd. Forty-thousand people in the arena and God only knew how many more across the world. The winner would face Hook in the exhibition. Billed as “the first-ever cross-continent battle of champions.” The Asian woman to his right kept fiddling with her locket. The couple on his left were holding hands. The arena lights dimmed; the crowd clapped and whooped in response. The announcer’s voice reverberated a, “Welcome!” throughout the arena.

“Emma will win,” his seatmate said.

Her opponent was introduced as “Zelena.” The jumbotron and screens across the arena lit up with five civilian photos partially obscured by red Xs. The crowd booed loudly as the door directly below Killian opened and Zelena stepped onto the sand. He only saw her from atop, a mass of fiery-red hair. The screens played her highlight reel, but Killian focused on her.

Only someone who had fought in the arena would recognize the way her shoulders slumped. Only a fellow gladiator could interpret that posture for what it was: regret and acceptance. “The Wicked Witch” was her title, emblazoned on every screen. Zelena wasn’t a warrior, she was a murderer, and she was prepared to die. The Asian woman next to Killian finally let go of her necklace.

“I know who you are,” she said. “You’re a legend.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Killian quipped before complimenting her locket. Her expression hardened. She was obviously battle-tested and much too quick as she forced up the right sleeve of his bomber jacket, to reveal a tattoo. It was a heart run through with a dagger, wrapped in Milah’s name.

“We all cope with lost love in different ways.”

“Milah isn’t lost, she’s dead,” Killian said angrily. His huff was lost in the roar of the crowd. It was one of the days he could barely stand to look at Milah’s name. It was a reminder he had yet to act on his only vow. He forced his sleeve down and pulled a silver flask from inside his jacket.

“Emma Swan!” The announcer himself sounded giddy as the second competitor entered the arena. She was blonde, that’s the first thing Killian noticed. The screens showed her from behind, her hair tied back in a warrior braid. Zelena shrank further into herself. Hook sipped the rum and stowed the flask. The crowd’s chant quickly rose in decibel.

“Saviour! Saviour! Saviour!”

“Mulan,” the woman next to Hook shouted her introduction. “I’m her trainer.” She nodded toward Emma but did not offer Hook her hand. “You were in war,” Killian observed in reply. “Afghanistan,” she confirmed as the roar of the crowd died. It was then he finally got a good look at Emma Swan.

“What the bloody hell is she wearing?!” Killian exclaimed.

“I tried to tell them!” The man to Killian’s left shook his head in disgust. Emma Swan was in head-to-toe white. She wore a long-sleeved spandex shirt that was cropped at the waist only a couple inches below her breasts, exposing her abdomen. Her pants were also spandex and her cleats were purple with a white swoosh. Zelena dressed similarly, but in green with the logos scraped off her black shoes.

“This is ridiculous,” Killian said, but he recognized the narrative. Emma Swan looked like an angel, forced to smite the unworthy from the Earth. Hook stole another look at Commissioner Gold as his fellow gladiators did the same. The reason this battle was the best-selling, highest-billed fight in the history of the sport, was that the stakes were the highest they had ever been. An angel killing the unworthy obscures the murder. If the witch kills the angel it’s a goddamn tragedy.

“Playing God,” Kilian muttered in disgust.

As was custom, Zelena knelt to authority. That’s what Gold would expect from his angel. What was it the crowd called her? The Saviour? Emma Swan unsheathed her sword and drove the blade into the ground. Killian’s jaw dropped in admiration. He never took sides when forced to watch a match, but there was no way the universe would let her die, right?

Emma Swan would not kneel.

“Begin,” Commissioner Gold announced. He giggled like a child and Killian cringed. The fingers of his right hand gripped his knee until they were white-knuckled. Killian let his head fall to the area between his knees and took several deep breaths. Those in the seats around him appeared concerned but Killian waved them off. That child-like glee? That same sound accompanied Killian’s hand falling away from his body. Emma Swan glared at Gold, her expression captured on the screens for all forty-thousand people to see.

Zelena pulled the spear from her back. Emma Swan did not move except to face her opponent. She was slow and deliberate. Zelena settled into a throwing stance and that’s when Killian knew she planned to die. He leaned over toward the man on his left and yelled over the crowd.

“Zelena is ready to die.”

“How do you know?” the man asked, still clutching his girlfriend’s hand. “She’s going to throw it,” Hook narrated. Emma Swan dropped to the sand and Zelena’s spear went right overhead into the wall.

“Spears are not for killing, they are used to force an opponent away from or into one particular part of the arena. Or to hit someone, but Zelena just threw away her leverage.” Emma Swan emphasized Hook’s point by walking over to the spear and breaking it in half over one knee. She threw the pieces on the ground before walking to her sword and resheathing it.

“One down,” Hook continued. He watched Zelena back into the wall below them. “Look at her now,” he points to where Zelena’s back hits the wall. When Mulan insisted Zelena was setting a trap, Hook laughed darkly. “The audience probably believes that, too.”

The Saviour advanced but Zelena made no attempt to move. The crowd began to whisper in confusion. Emma Swan knew it was a trap, but it didn’t seem to phase her. Zelena darted around her just as Emma Swan put her hand on her sword. Mulan leaned over the wall and shouted into the arena.

“Obey your instincts!”

Zelena threw a net over Emma Swan’s head before she could orient herself. It was weighted and forced her to the ground. Killian heard Zelena’s dark laughter and that was the most dangerous sign—she had found a glimmer of hope.

“Oh, shit,” Killian muttered.

Emma Swan continued to struggle as Zelena advanced. She had seconds at most. Emma pulled a knee up toward her face and contorted her shoulder. Killian winced at the movement. She pulled a dagger from her boot and sliced through the webbing. She rolled free and kicked Zelena’s feet out from under her. Killian sucked a breath in through his teeth.

“She’s got something to live for,” he observed.

“Yeah,” the man on his left nodded. “Yeah, she does.” Killian wondered briefly how he could know such a thing but the thought disappeared because Emma Swan was looking at him. Zelena pulled herself up using the wall below, but Killian could not spare her a glance. Emma Swan saw him. Killian reached for Mulan’s hand. He didn’t want to pull away for her sightline to look at the screen because that was not nearly intimate enough. No, Emma Swan was looking at Killian Jones. Her eyes said:

“You and I, we understand each other.”

Zelena attacked, going at Emma with a dagger of her own. Killian grimaced and muttered a faint apology there was no way for Emma swan to hear as Zelena tackled her. She held up a hand to shield her face as Zelena’s knife came crashing down. Killian gasped at the sight of her palm splitting open. Any sympathy he had for Emma’s opponent disappeared. Hook, like nearly everyone else in the arena, wanted Zelena dead. He did not question why his emotional response to Emma Swan increased in intensity, or why his loyalty was so easily shifted. He never noticed himself breaking his own rule. He chose a side. Emma’s shout was caught by the arena mics.

“Witch!”

Emma kicked Zelena off and hurled both daggers across the arena. She jammed her foot into the side of Zelena’s ribcage. Killian tightened his grip on Mulan’s hand. “How do you do this every time?” he asked, voice cracking a bit. “What?” Mulan asked in reply. “Care,” Killian sighed. “She’s about to start fighting like me.”

“You’re nothing but a killer!” Emma shouted. Zelena laughed and clutched her side.

“So are you,” she challenged. The Saviour did not seem to care. She straddled Zelena, drawing jeers from the crowd. The couple to Hook’s left looked away. Emma wrapped her fingers around Zelena’s throat and Zelena’s eyes rolled back in her head.

Emma responded by punching Zelena’s face even harder. Zelena spit blood into Emma’s face, but she was not perturbed. Instead, she unleashed a barrage. Her knuckles were covered in blood—both her own and Zelena’s. Killian chanced a glance at the man beside him and he was ghostly pale.

“I’ve never seen her like this,” he said to no one in particular.

“She doesn’t see Zelena anymore, mate,” Killian offered. Emma drove her fist into Zelena’s face again. “If it were me, I’d be pretending it’s Gold right there. Knowing what he’s made her do? Dressed her up to play a part in his little murder play. I’m sure she’s picturing whatever sad chap landed her in this place, too. Everyone who has ever let her down is responsible for the beating Zelena is getting.”

Hook knew it was true because Emma Swan’s fist did not let up on Zelena’s face for a full minute. Zelena chose not to fight back as Emma slammed her elbow into Zelena’s nose. “I just don’t know what she becomes after this,” the man’s girlfriend said. For the final blow, Emma picked up Zelena’s head and slammed it back down onto the sand.

“I’m no princess!” Emma said loud enough for the arena mics to hear.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing erratic, if she was not overpowered by adrenaline she would be fighting back tears. Killian had seen it happen a dozen times with newer gladiators. Emma Swan had lost control. She shook visibly, hardly able to balance on her knees. Killian muttered to himself.

“Emma, love, find yourself again.” He did not miss the way all three of his compatriots stared at him for his use of that particular epithet. Killian did not blame them, and he just kept muttering. “She’s going to lose it, she’s going to break before she kills Zelena. Come on, Emma. Whatever it is that kept you going all this time, whatever got you here, find it and use it. Five more minutes, Swan, come on! Just keep it together!”

Zelena’s eyes were nearly swollen shut. Her face was red and bruised, purple blotches formed along her jaw. She did not move for several seconds so Emma stood. This action was met with another chorus of, “Saviour! Saviour! Saviour!” Not that Emma Swan would notice. Her hands were balled into fists at her side, her jaw clenched, and several loose strands of hair were stuck to her neck and coated with her opponent’s blood.

Zelena lifted an arm and Emma took it to hoist her up. Zelena was unsteady on her feet, leaning most of her weight on Emma. Zelena spit blood onto the sand and said something to Emma. It’s too low of a whisper for the mics to catch it, so the man next to him asked, “What did she say?” Killian sighed. Zelena visibly wobbled where she stood.

“She asked what every loser asks of a victor: make it quick.”

“I think this may be the one to break her, Mary-Margaret,” said the man on the left. Killian raised an eyebrow. “That’s David Nolan, Emma’s coach, and his fiancé,” Mulan filled him in as Emma Swan half-dragged Zelena to the middle of the arena.

“Kneel,” Emma demanded.

“Look at him,” Emma said, pointing her sword at Commissioner Gold. Zelena complied, on her knees. Most people probably missed the way she gave Emma’s hand a grateful squeeze. Emma Swan then shouted loud enough so all the arena microphones would catch her words.

“That is the man who killed you.”

Something inside Killian snapped. Mulan winced as his grip tightened yet again. That act of defiance would have consequences. To risk everything so close to freedom; Killian was awed by that resistance. She was the first gladiator with the gall it took to place blame where it belonged.

He quietly asked, “Just who are you, Swan?”

The Saviour stepped behind Zelena and moved all that red hair to one side. She lined her sword up with the thinnest part of The Wicked Witch’s neck and swung. Killian saw her double-clutching the hilt. In one swift motion, but a moment that seemed to last much longer, Zelena’s head fell to the side and her limp torso fell forward. The woman, Mary-Margaret, flew past her three seatmates in a rush to the bathroom as the crowd erupted in cheers.

Emma’s sword was stained red.

The Saviour bent down to twine her fingers in Zelena’s hair. She rose to a standing position, bringing the decapitated head along. The loose flaps of skin at the end of Zelena’s neck smacked together like a venus flytrap. A steady drip-drip-drip of blood droplets fell onto the sand. The Saviour held The Wicked Witch’s head aloft, triumphant.

“Ding-dong.”

And the crowd cheered raucously. Killian dropped his hold on Mulan’s hand to cover his ears, their celebration deafening. Zelena’s head rotated around and Emma Swan came face-to-face with lifeless eyes. Hook could see her instant reflex was to vomit. She kept it back, though. She just stared into Zelena’s eyes for several seconds.

“She is going to break down,” Killian said.

“She won’t do it out here, but the moment she’s away from everyone she is going to crack.” Mulan nodded in agreement. Emma finally peeled her eyes away and sat the disembodied head on the ground next to Zelena’s torso. Her knee landed in the river of blood, so when she stood there was more red on her armor than white.

“Saviour! Saviour! Saviour!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated!!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP but, as my little sister put it, "Ain't nobody gonna read it until it's finished." Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


End file.
